You Could Say That
by ballpoints and balloons
Summary: "I might be almost fond of you." How to go from a maybe with a side of almosts to a something, even if you haven't figured out what yet. Jinx X Kid Flash.


**You Could Say That**

For Veekay,  
>because she's amazing<br>and supermegaawesome  
>and Kaldur proved rather difficult to abduct.<br>HAPPY BIRTHDAY.

o-o-o-o-o

**one; smile.**

"Jinx, your training begins now."

"Training?" I cross my arms and roll my eyes.

"Yep. You're going to be a good guy, right? You need training."

"To wear spandex?"

What is visible of Kid Flash's face (most of it, really, despite his best efforts to encase his head in rubber) falls. "Hey, I rock the spandex."

He kinda does, but I'm still not wearing it.

"You need to smile. Heroes smile. You never smile." There is a pause for ponderous silence before he supplies, "Except when you're tormenting the innocent. And that's troubling."

"I smile when I'm around you, don't I?" This proof should silence him, but it does not.

"Probably because I'm so dashing."

"...If you just tried to make a running pun, I'm leaving."

o-o-o-o-o

**two; primary.**

"Here it is! Home sweet home," Kid Flash says, opening the door to an apartment that consists of enough red and yellow to form a Thanksgiving display.

I try not to be blinded by all the primary colours. It's not working.

o-o-o-o-o

**three; caffeine.**

It takes me all of five minutes to realize I can't find coffee maker. I can only hope it's tucked under the sink or in one of the many kitchen cupboards, because I couldn't commit crimes without a hearty dose of caffeine in my system, and the same logic applies to stopping them. Obviously.

"Kid, where's the coffee maker?" I ask, trying to remain calm.

Kid Flash, mouth filled with such vast quantities of cereal that he now resembles a chipmunk, pokes his head out from the fridge. "Schlum dun," he gurgles through a full mouth of Count Chocula, sounding for all the world like a distressed walrus.

I stare at him. Blankly, most likely, but there's also every chance I look homicidal. Caffeine deprivation does that.

"I don't have one," he finally manages to say coherently.

More staring of the blank/homicidal variety.

I don't want to be ungrateful, because this is the boy who has converted me from villainy, and also he's extremely good-looking, but he seems blissfully unaware of the fact that the reason I can no longer rob Starbucks to get my fix is because of him.

He blinks at me for a minute, then speeds out of the room.

There's only a second or two to gape at the door before he is back, a massive plastic bag from HomeSense dangling from his gloved fingers. "Here," he says proudly, placing it on the counter.

"... You spoil me," I say, like it's a fact. Because it is.

He grins. "Yeah, but you're kinda worth it."

o-o-o-o-o

**four; insurance.**

"So how come you live in an apartment, and not a gigantic letter?" I punctuate the question with a quiet slurp of life-giving elixir. (Read: coffee from my new coffee machine that makes coffee.)

"Insurance premiums tend to be kind of mental on really obvious hideouts, don't you find?"

o-o-o-o-o

**five; pedestrian.**

Kid Flash does not run. He zips. Or speeds. Or zooms. Or just generally partakes of verbs synonymous with 'holy hell how are you moving so quickly?' that are not used to describe the average hurried pedestrian.

This is why his attempts to do something as mundane as walk down a street in slower than the sound barrier fast become ridiculous.

"I could've outrun that car," he mumbles under his breath, wrongly assuming I can't hear him.

"I know!" I shriek, because this is probably the eighteenth sports car we both know he could've outrun if he wanted. "Geez, just outrun it then! You could beat it if you power-walked!"

For a minute, he blinks, and then looks nothing short of hurt.

"But I want to walk with you."

And now I'm the one blinking like the sun's in my eyes.

"You're so cheesy," I reply. Lovingly, of course.

And the rest of the trip to Corner Mart is spent with hands entwined. Because there's no point to cheesiness without commitment.

o-o-o-o-o

**six; anniversary.**

"Congratulations!" Kid Flash explains, bursting into the apartment with one arm 'subtly' (okay, no it isn't, but the poor boy tries, and manages to remain good-looking throughout, so I'll give him the benefit of the doubt) concealed behind his back.

"Congratulations?" I repeat.

"Yep. Congratulations. This is your One-Month-Being-a-Good-Guy-Versary!" With what is probably supposed to be dramatic flair, he reveals his hidden hand, which is carefully clutching...

"Grass?"

I keep staring at what he's holding. Nope, it's definitely blades of grass. Wrapped in a ribbon. With a card attached.

"Uhh... thank you?"

It's another case where I don't mean to sound ungrateful, but have no idea what to make of this. Being a good guy earns me the yieldings of lawn sod?

I'm handed the bouquet of grass, which, upon closer inspection, is full of four-leaf clovers.

o-o-o-o-o

**seven; chemistry.**

"You liked science?" For some reason this is hard to believe, apart from the potential attraction to shiny objects that the Bunsen burners might have offered.

"Yep. My best subject." He sounds extremely proud. "Still is, probably. But you could say a damper was put on it when I blew up the garage."

"You... blew up the garage?"

"S'how I got my powers."

This is followed by a surprisingly calm shrug.

o-o-o-o-o

**eight; castle.**

Despite everything, the cheese, the city, and the boy, the days start to come when I wonder about everyone back at the Hive Five. Are they okay? Are they mad I left?

And it sucks because I can't leave, and I don't want to leave, but I want to know if Mammoth has managed to bench-press a building yet, or if Billy will ever mature, or if Kid Wykkyd will one day opt to speak, or if puberty has yet to plague Gizmo, and if they ever got around to fixing all the damage to the lair after Kid Flash was unleashed upon it.

"Today is Mammoth's birthday," I inform him one day on our way home from the police station (bank robbery foiled, day saved, because don't we always?)

"That's pretty cool. How old is he?"

And normally my maybe-sort-of-kinda boyfriend's inclination to forget that Mammoth almost broke his ribs would make me smile, but right now it just makes it worse.

"I don't know. He never told me. And he was in high school, but I don't know if that's because he was my age or because he had the cranial capacity of a walnut."

Billy probably would have laughed. Kid Flash doesn't, and again I see the differences between boys.

"Jinx, are you-?"

"We were gonna steal a bouncy castle for the party," I say, and I don't know how it sounds because it's a fact and a reminiscence all at the same time.

"Can Mammoth even fit on a bouncy castle? The guy's pretty much a brick wall with feet."

"...I think it was a thing of sentiment." _Kind of like this_.

"Sentiment'll get you that way."

We don't say much more on the subject, and the morning paper reports a strange bouncy castle theft from a carnival in Jump City.

o-o-o-o-o

**nine; lucky.**

"Hey! You're that girl from the news! You stopped that robbery with Kid Flash!"

I blink. This is sort of new. Before, my recognition from the news was for things like taking candy from babies, putting cats in trees, or inhibiting the elderly in their attempts to cross the street. (And also bank robberies. There were definitely bank robberies.)

And now I stop bank robberies. Go figure.

"Yeah, that was me," I say cautiously.

"Oh my gosh! He's so hot! You are so lucky!" says the girl who has approached me.

Lucky? Well, that's new too. I smile, just like a hero is apparently supposed to. "Yeah, I am."

o-o-o-o-o

**ten; fight.**

On occasion I find it miraculous that someone as fearful of the polysyllabic as Kid Flash can stand upright, much less fight crime.

Yet fight crime he does. And look rather splendid in doing so, though I would rather remove my tongue with a monkey wrench than inform him.

o-o-o-o-o

**eleven; materialism.**

"I can't get into Christmas. Santa owes me a unicorn from when I was in kindergarten."

"You have a grudge against _Santa_?"

"Hello, _villain_? Old habits die hard," I reply, hardly enjoying his tone, which suggests that a grudge against Santa is on par with habitual puppy-kicking as far as being a horrible person is concerned. "And it was totally the best unicorn toy _ever_. The horn lit up and everything. And you could brush the tail, because it was _real_ polyester doll hair."

"That's so materialistic," he points out,

"You're materialistic! Your first move of conversion was to start giving me stuff!" I snap, because my inner five-year-old will not tolerate insults against Ulala the Mystical Unicorn.

This gives him pause for a moment.

"Well, yeah. But it totally worked, didn't it?" His grin is one of his typical 'I-Think-I'm-More-Charming-Than-the-Rest-of-You-Find-Me' (he insists this is a lie, because _everyone_ finds him charming, even if they don't admit it, something I have made a habit out of doing) facial contortions.

Unable to deny this, I take another swig of hot chocolate and burn my throat accordingly.

Though it's possible it's just my cheeks.

o-o-o-o-o

**twelve; assailant.**

"Try to use that. I dare you," I say calmly to the masked man with the gun levelled at my chest.

He doesn't get the chance to try (he probably would have, because they always do) before a flick of my wrist crumbles the firearm in his hands, leaving it as little more than scattered metal pieces on the linoleum tile.

This too the man is given little time to absorb before his nose becomes intimately acquainted with the scuffed soles of my platforms and he is sent reeling into the cash register.

"You are crazy hot when you fight crime," Kid Flash says admiringly.

"I know," I say modestly, hoisting the burglar up by the scruff of his neck.

o-o-o-o-o

**thirteen; almost.**

"I brought you Starbucks."

This is just one of those many gestures made by Kid Flash that stand out against my last almost-kind-of-maybe-seriously-kiss-me-already-you-fool relationship.

Which was with Cyborg. In disguise. And whose idea of a nice, boyfriendly gesture was to offer me his meatloaf on the days it looked particularly sentient.

I take a sip from the cup. Practically poisoned with sugar, just the way I like it. The objections of my arteries are very nearly audible.

It is a special kind of boy who will fiddle about with sugar packets to make your coffee a heart attack waiting to happen.

"Have I mentioned I'm almost kind of fond of you?" I ask, thrumming my fingers against the side of the cup.

"Nope, not yet. But feel free to do so."

o-o-o-o-o

**fourteen; return.**

"I'm going back to Jump City, now that you're all settled in."

"Oh."

It's not like it doesn't make sense, but there is something numbing about this news.

"It's just for a little while," he reassures me. "Just until the Titans get back. Figured I'd keep an eye on their town for them, y'know?"

"Understandable. I mean, my incredibly deadly crew is back there," I remind him.

Yes, the dangers posed there are many. They might attempt to entrap him in a fort made from couch cushions. Because they're just that evil. Or unintimidating. It's hard to tell sometimes.

o-o-o-o-o

**fifteen; outrun.**

Sort of like the Hive Five, as soon as Kid Flash is out of my sight, the wondering starts.

How many Ferraris is he outrunning without me keeping him at the speed limit of typical foot traffic?

Has he learned about basic table manners, including that a mouth full of cereal prevents effective verbal communication?

Is he having fun stopping crime without me? (Probably. He has fun with just about everything.)

And most importantly, why did I not attach his face to mine via mouth? Regrets, regrets.

o-o-o-o-o

**sixteen; return.**

"Hey Jinx!" is all the red and yellow blur has the opportunity to greet me with before my tongue is down his throat.

And that's kind of okay.

o-o-o-o-o

**seventeen; cheese.**

"So. We're going to Paris to stop the Brotherhood of Evil?"

"Well, y'know, if you're up for it," Kid Flash jokes. "I thought you owed Madame Rouge some payback."

I do, obviously enough.

"And I missed you. And I don't want to go to Paris to fight crime without you," he adds very quickly. He disappears and returns with a rose, which is starting to seem more and more like a default every day, but I'm too attached to the concept by this point.

"...You are the cheesiest boy ever. In a good way. I think."

"As long as it's in a good way."

o-o-o-o-o

**eighteen; travel.**

"You were _late_? You're never late! 'Fastest Boy Alive', right?" Cyborg exclaims.

"I'm sorry! Superspeed does not speed up delayed international flights," Kid Flash attempts to explain.

"Can the Kid Flash not run on the water?" Starfire asks in confusion. "Why would he have need of the international flights?"

"I had a friend to pick up. And she can't run on water."

"Hi," I contribute, waving.

"Jinx?" Cyborg asks, apparently even more confused at this revelation.

"Yep. Jinx," Kid Flash confirms, reaching for my hand, which delights me more than it should, despite my best efforts to keep my face impassive.

Cyborg chooses to fixate on this, and clears his throat with a small smile on his face before whirling back on Kid Flash with a vengeance.

"Still. No excuse for crummy timing!"

"C'mon! Did you not _see_ how much ass she can kick?"

"Of course I've seen it! It used to be _our_ asses she kicked!"

And throughout this argument he's still holding my hand with what appears to be no intention of letting go, which is okay, because I don't think I'm going to let go either.

o-o-o-o-o

**nineteen; together.**

I'm perched on the counter of Titans Tower, exhausted from the flight from Paris and swinging my legs back and forth against the cupboard doors in a vain attempt to prevent them from falling asleep like the rest of me wants to do. (It's prevented by the din exuding from the other teenaged superheroes milling about the living room.)

"So..." snaps me out of my dazed thoughts of my quiet little apartment in Central, where no one is playing loud celebratory music or asking people which condiments they prefer with their waffles.

It's Kid Flash, grinning as broadly as ever, and holding a cup of Starbucks in his hand.

"So I'm officially fond of you now, if that's what you wanted to hear," I say, snatching the cup from his clutches.

o-o-o-o-o

**Ending Notes:** OHMYGOODNESS. Nineteen because... subtlety. Subtlety is totally what this is.  
>It's (not at all) subtle because yesterday was <strong>Vertikalen<strong>'s nineteenth birthday.  
>So yes. Happy birthday, Veekay! Hope you like this, despite its lateness.<br>Thank ye kindly for reading!


End file.
